


Two Dudes Walk into a Bar

by a_taller_tale



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: (badly), Dancing, Kissing, M/M, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: Simmons is determined to get the information and get a commendation by whatever means necessary.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hakanaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakanaki/gifts).



> Trope prompt: Grimmons undercover at a gay bar.

Once Grif got the bartender’s attention, he pointed his thumb at Simmons. “He’ll take the girliest drink you serve.” 

“What the fuck, Grif?!” Simmons shoved him, but they weren’t in armor, so Grif didn’t fall off the bar stool like he would have liked. 

The bartender eyed Simmons. “Something sweet?” 

“I’ll take a beer,” he huffed. “Whatever’s cheapest on tap.” 

“Jeez, Simmons. They have good drinks here. Who’s the insecure one now?” 

The bartender nodded to Grif, who sighed. “I’ll take a Painkiller. For this pain in the ass.” 

The bartender winked at both of them to diffuse the 'fight.' Oh god, he thought they were dating, didn’t he? 

No. This was good. That was going to be their cover. Their instructions from Command were to stake out this bar every day for the next week. The city wasn't far from Blood Gulch, but it was far enough that every mile they'd traveled driving up here, Grif had gotten more and more cheerful. He wasn't taking this mission seriously at all. 

Luckily Simmons was more than up for this. They were supposed to be on the lookout for a man named Smith, who had a _very specific_ description. Supposedly, he frequented this bar and he had some information that would be invaluable for Red Command and all the Red Army posts. It could be the key to their victory! Why, if this mission was successful and they got valuable enough intel, Simmons could get a commendation! Or even a medal! That would show everyone who never believed in Private Simmons. Take that, Dad! 

Well, he might get a medal if his partner wasn’t Grif. As if on cue, Grif sighed loudly, looking so bored he might take a nap at the bar, but still more content than he usually looked back at base. 

The whole thing could have been way worse though. His partner could have been Donut. Or Sarge. He couldn’t imagine Sarge in a place like this, but it would probably be the stuff of nightmares. 

While they were waiting on their drinks, Simmons took a look around to get the layout. The club wasn’t very different from any other club. Not that he’d been to any in person, but he’d seen them in movies, like _The Matrix_. There were some glow sticks, but not as many as he thought there would be. 

Considering what _kind_ of club it was, he’d thought it would be more Donut’s color scheme. Donut had definitely talked enough about the schematics of his future club, _The Donut Hole,_ during Red Team meetings for the images to be burned into his brain. 

But this place was just dark and crowded. There were dimmer lights near the bar and glowing neon lights on the dance floor near the DJ. There were only men dancing together. Simmons tried not to feel too on edge. It probably would have been worse if there were girls here anyway. 

Their drinks were set in front of them. 

“Why _are_ we at a…” Simmons looked around and whispered the last part. 

“What was that, Simmons?” Grif took a sip of his drink. 

“ _A gay bar_ ,” he whispered louder. 

Grif cupped his hand around his ear. “What?” 

“ _A GAY BAR, ASSHOLE_!” It was perfect timing with the last song ending, and his yell echoed through the club. 

Simmons ducked his head and took several gulps of his drink, feeling eyes on him. He’d feel slightly better after he downed his beer. Beer was comforting in new territory. 

Grif patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, buddy. Now everyone knows where they are.” 

_Goddammit, Grif._

“As for why we're here, uh... the guy probably likes dudes. Or the drinks. This place isn't bad. I say we relax, have a few drinks, and watch the game," Grif said. "No way is this guy gonna show up the first night.” 

Which was exactly the moment Simmons spotted a flash of dark purple in the crowd. “There he is! That’s our target!” 

“What? It can’t be.” Grif looked really confused. Figured. Grif thought this was a vacation or something. There were here on official business, _Grif!_

“Yeah it’s totally him! He has a ridiculous handlebar mustache and a purple suit with a yellow lapel flower! He exactly matches the description! We got him the first night!” 

“Fucking figures…” Grif didn’t move, sipping more of his drink. 

“C’mon Grif, we gotta follow him!” 

“He’s just dancing or something, dude. I don’t think he has any information on the enemy. How can you even be sure he’s the right—?” 

Simmons pulled Grif out of his seat, which was more of a struggle than it usually was in armor too. Grif was really solid. The fat-ass managed to drain his drink without spilling it all over himself and leave it on a nearby table as Simmons dragged him. “We have to get over there. We’re supposed to be following him!” 

Simmons’ nerves picked up as soon as they were out on the floor. It was crowded. Luckily the purple suit guy was easy to spot. A lot of guys here were dressed…nicer? Wearing tight pants or tight tops or suits, and one guy was even wearing a shiny sequined number that reminded him of Donut. It was less over the top than Simmons imagined a gay bar would be, but he was still really under dressed in comparison. Pressed shirt and slacks, but at least looked less sloppy than Grif who was just wearing an open button down over a t-shirt and loose jeans. 

God, they sucked at this. 

The guy in the tailored purple suit had found a dance partner… or _his contact_! 

They had to get over there and listen in. It… Was it weird they didn’t have any other instructions though? He didn’t have any spy gear or anything to plant on the guy. They were just supposed to observe and report. 

Still, this was starting to really feel like an action thriller. Normal military life in Blood Gulch was never this exciting. 

Dragging Grif closer he found a spot in earshot of the two and grabbed Grif’s hand in his left, placing his right hand on the small of Grif’s back. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Grif asked flatly. 

“We have to dance! We’ll stick out otherwise!” 

“Are you actually trying to _ballroom dance_ with me right now?” 

It was the only dance he knew. His mom had signed him up and he’d never danced with anyone else, but he got the forms perfect after practicing in the mirror. 

“You have a better idea?” Simmons demanded. 

“Literally anything else,” Grif said with an eye roll. Asshole. 

Simmons scowled. “Everyone’s dancing. I don’t see you helping.” 

Grif batted his hands off and took a lead position, hands on Simmons’ hips. 

“I don’t see how that’s that different than—" 

And then he started moving and, Grif actually had good rhythm even though it wasn’t a _real_ dance or anything. Simmons was a full beat behind on every move Grif tried to make with him, but he just smirked and they kept awkwardly dancing, even though Simmons felt like a wooden puppet. Sometimes he couldn't tell if he was having fun with Grif, or if Grif was just laughing at him. 

If he had had a couple more drinks maybe he could relax. It was _so foreign_ to have someone touching him. “I can’t hear anything. We have to get closer.” 

Grif let out an annoyed breath through his nose, but steered closer to where the other couple was dancing. They were getting _very_ close. Maybe to whisper military secrets to each other. 

The sooner Simmons got _any_ information the sooner they could leave, because he was starting to feel really weird about Grif dancing with him and touching him. And they weren’t doing much better with blending in since Simmons couldn’t stop moving like a robot. Grif didn’t seem to mind very much, but— 

Suddenly, purple-suit-guy started leaning towards his companion. _This was it._ After they heard his plans, Simmons would have the key to victory! 

_Holy shit, they're making out._

Simmons was suddenly hyper aware of everyone else around them grinding and kissing and _god they were sticking out so much._ The purple guy was going to make them as spies any second! And then they’d lose their chance for Simmons’ well-deserved promotion forever! 

“We’re not going to get any information tonight,” Grif said. “Let’s just go back to the bar, you need to have another—" 

Simmons kissed him. 

Grif stared at him like Simmons had just slapped him in the face. “What the _fuck are you doing_?” 

“Blending in!” Simmons winced at how high pitched his voice came out. He coughed so his voice would go back to normal levels. “Everyone else is making out.” 

Grif looked exasperated, which was ridiculous because he wasn’t helping _at all._ “You kissed me on the _cheek_ , you loser.” 

This asshole was going to blow their cover with all his snarking! Simmons growled, kissing him on the lips, this time to shut him up. 

After just a frozen moment, Grif melted slightly, and tilted his head so their lips slid together at an easy angle. Jeez, he was… he was suddenly really into the role. 

Simmons was still taller than Grif, but Grif was bigger than him out of armor. Because he was so fat. Yeah. It didn’t feel… nice to have Grif’s hands on him, to have Grif kissing him. It was a little less awkward than the dancing, but only a little. Simmons’ arms tightened around his shoulders and he was aware how close he was pressed to his teammate. No armor separating them, just a couple layers of fabric. He was really warm, and his lazy annoying mouth was surprisingly soft. 

Simmons must have made a noise or something, because Grif broke the kiss very suddenly, dark eyes wide. They blinked at each other for a few seconds. 

Simmons started leaning back into Grif’s space again when Grif spoke. “There’s no mission,” he said. 

Simmons whipped his head back to where the purple guy had been. “Oh no, he’s gone! We didn’t get anything!” 

“No, dude, that was just some random guy. I hacked the main frame to get us some shore leave. Just my luck someone fit the role the _first day_.” 

“Wha—You hacked the–? It’s not a _mainframe system_!” 

“It’s not that hard to ‘hack’ when the password is ‘ _password_ ,’ Simmons.” 

“But then, why were we here?” People weren't paying them any attention, and with the pressure of the potential mission off, Simmons suddenly felt oddly calm, and his eyes kept wandering back to Grif's mouth. _Stop it._

“I like this bar,” Grif said. 

“This is a _gay bar_ ," Simmons said, enunciating slowly just in case Grif had missed that. 

“Yeah. You told everyone that earlier.” 

Simmons registered Grif’s hands on his hips and how he had been kissing him just now, like he _liked it_ and... Oh. _Ohhhh._ “Oh.” 

Then he realized that this mission had been a fake. So Grif had been making fun of him all night. And Simmons had _danced in public_. And he wasn't even in the running for a medal! 

“I’m going to kill you.” 


End file.
